


Real Elvish Rope

by pixiedustatsundown



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Forced Bonding, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Frodo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-05 03:10:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20481878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pixiedustatsundown/pseuds/pixiedustatsundown
Summary: Merry and Pippin were falling over each laughing, bursting into new giggles whenever they so much as looked into their direction. This wasnot good, not good at all. Thankfully, Sam seemed less at a loss as to what to do when you wake up with your arm tightly bound to your best friend’s. Though to be fair, Sam didn’t have to deal with the added difficulty of being utterly in love with said best friend.Frodo loved Sam. And because he loved him, Frodo would do whatever it took to make him happy; even if that means that he will leave him to marry Rosie. They only needed to find a way to loosen the rope, no matter that Frodo quite liked being bound to Sam.





	Real Elvish Rope

**Author's Note:**

  * For [urfavpendeja](https://archiveofourown.org/users/urfavpendeja/gifts).

> I wrote this for Emily, because she is an amazing, incredible and lovely person, and I am immensely happy that we are friends. This was a great joy to write, and I hope you liked it.  
  
Thank you at my wonderful beta reader April, for improving this and the wonderful comments.

Merry and Pippin were falling over each laughing, bursting into new giggles whenever they so much as looked into their direction. This was _not good_, not good at all. Thankfully, Sam seemed less at a loss as to what to do when you wake up with your arm tightly bound to your best friend’s. Though to be fair, Sam didn’t have to deal with the added difficulty of being utterly in love with said best friend. 

“What do you think you are doing? Untie us immediately!” Unfortunately, Sam’s valiant efforts were only met with more hysteric laughter. Visibly giving up on getting any help from their insufferable friends, Sam instead focused his attention on the rope binding them together. It was the elven rope Galadriel had gifted him in Lothlórien - Sam couldn’t bear to part with it, it being a gift from an Elf and all. Frodo had thought it endearing, how much value Sam could find in the most elemental things; now Frodo wished he had left it behind. 

That wasn’t fair, it wasn’t Sam’s fault they were in this situation after all. No, the only ones to blame were, as usual, Merry and Pippin. These two had always been prone to mischief, but Frodo had the impression they’d been worse since coming back from their adventure. _Adventure_ \- the term didn’t fit what each and every single one of them went through, but it was what Sam and Frodo had taken to calling it. 

“Don’t you worry Mr. Frodo, I will get us out of this in no time at all. I think if I just pull here-” Sam pulled _somewhere_ in the giant mess of a knot Frodo didn’t even attempt to decipher, looking triumphant for one short moment. Then the rope wound itself tighter around their arms, forcing them impossibly closer together. 

Their faces were suddenly only inches apart, close enough that Frodo could feel Sam’s breath on his face, could see the gold sprinkles in his eyes. 

“I don’t think you were supposed to pull there, Sam.” He smiled at him, incredibly tempted to stop his mumbled apologies by simply kissing him. He found himself wishing to kiss Sam quite often lately. Frodo quickly pulled back, lest he finally gave in to temptation. He underestimated the strength of the rope though, rearing back immediately and literally falling onto Sam, toppling him over. 

Just a second ago he wouldn’t have thought it possible, but this position was even worse. Sam laid under him now, staring up at him in surprise, eyes wide, lips slightly parted. They practically _begged_ to be kissed, all Frodo would have to do was lean down - 

The moment was broken by a jarringly loud swell of laughter and the sudden appearance of Merry and Pippin next to them on the ground. Shoved into action, Frodo scrambled as far away from Sam as the rope would allow -which is to say not far at all- and tried to get a hold of this bizarre situation he somehow found himself in. 

They were outside, next to the old tree Sam and Frodo liked to sit at, the one from which you could see the whole vale. Not the entire shire, of course, but a decent representation of it. That made sense, he knew this place, it was acceptable. He and Sam must have come up here like they did often, fell asleep, woke up bound Because Merry and Pippin thought themselves funny. Yes, that seemed about right. They must have provided them with a very easy target, too, and now an endless source of amusement. 

As logical as the explanation sounded to his own ears, he’d better confirm it, because otherwise he would have to go back to thinking about how Sam was close enough that he could feel his warmth; how easy it would be to snuggle back into his broad chest and wrap those strong arms around him. 

“Would someone mind telling me what’s happening here?” He used the most authoritative voice he was capable of at that moment, realising too late that it would hardly entreat his friends to answer him clearly. Merry and Pippin held their breath for a moment, stopping the incessant snickering to stare at Frodo. Hope flared in him, that it might have actually worked, before the cackling started again. He gave up on them with a resigned sigh, it would have been exceedingly odd for them to answer his demand anyway. 

“I would think it pretty obvious what happened here, Frodo. We have to go now, but you two have fun, yes?” Before either Sam or Frodo could protest, Merry and Pippin pulled each other up, waved at them, and left, congratulating each other on a prank well executed. That was Frodo’s sole distraction gone. He should have reserved his sigh for now, because this situation surely called for one. 

Watching them skipping down the hill, Frodo tried to come to terms with this development. Granted, it was far from optimal, but really, he had endured worse. Being bound to Sam would be no hardship, if only he could control his urges. They would be free in no time at all, Sam would never have to know, and they could laugh about it a few years down the road. It would be a story Sam could tell his children - the time he was bound to their uncle Frodo. 

“We’d better leave it Mr. Frodo. Ask Gandalf to look at it maybe, he’s a wizard after all - who better to ask?” He was more talking to himself, examining the rope with a concentrated little frown on his face. It was adorable and Frodo found it all too easy to ignore the words and their meanings for now, simply admiring how handsome Sam looked when he was lost in thought. 

“Are you alright, Mr. Frodo?” Sam was frowning at _him_ now, something he did far too often. It didn’t seem pensive anymore, more concerned than anything else. The urge to smooth it out, wipe away the unhappy expression and all his worries with it came over Frodo, not unexpected but still overwhelming. 

It was a futile hope, all he could do was alleviate the concern. But Sam would always fuss about him - that was who he was and Frodo loved him that way. Though he still wished he would worry less. 

“Yes my dear Sam, I am quite alright. And I agree, it seems like any attempts to free ourselves only results in us being closer than before. This is no common rope, we shouldn’t dare tempt it.” He also didn’t dislike these circumstances, but Sam didn’t need to know that. That was his burden to bear, and his alone. He had experience with that kind of thing after all, though love was far more pleasing a burden. 

“Let’s not dwell here then, I will make us something nice to eat and things will look better already. There is nothing a decent meal can’t fix.” Sam heaved himself up, offering his free hand to Frodo. He gratefully accepted and then they were walking down the hill together, leaning too close and planning their supper. 

* * *

“You lads still bound, I see. Me and my Bertha, we did that too, was more common back then, though. Didn’t think such young folks as you would be interested. Hope no one given you any trouble? Heard there’s intolerant folks, just over in Bree, I did. It’s because of all the foreigners, I tell you. Shouldn’t let them in if all they do is cause trouble. But no one ever listens to me, only complain when it’s too late. Nothing but talk they all are, never doing anything.” He took another deep swallow from his mug, ignoring Frodo’s confusion in favour of drinking. He’d been referring to the rope, of course, that much was obvious – but everything else a mystery. 

Frodo didn’t even know him, some friend of the Gaffer, Sam had said, and that it would be rude not to sit with him after he invited them. Frodo didn’t know who Bertha was, nor why he would willing bind himself to her, or why he stopped for that matter. That wasn’t quite right, he could see why he wasn’t bound to her anymore - it was hardly practical. He and Sam had been bound for about a week now, and things were less than ideal. 

For one, obvious and yet a revelation when Frodo first realised the full impact, they could never part, thus had to do everything together. That was the crux of the matter - Frodo had much time to contemplate this and was fairly sure of it now. It’s not that he didn’t enjoy spending his every waking, and sleeping, moment with Sam - it’s that he enjoyed it _too much_. It has become increasingly more difficult to refrain from touching, from staring too long, and to remind himself that he could never have this. 

Out of necessity, they had taken to sleeping in the same bed. Sam had refused at first, intent on sleeping on the hard floor next to the bed, insisting he didn’t want to burden Frodo or endanger his sleep. It had taken some coaxing and reminding of the nights they’d spent on their adventure, and finally, the closest Frodo wanted to get to a command, before Sam gave in and laid down next to him. 

The bed was indeed very narrow for two fully grown hobbits, so they had to lay pressed close together. Frodo didn’t mind that; he felt safe, warm, and protected this close to his Sam. And if Sam minded, he never said a word. It didn’t matter in the end, because even if they had a larger bed with more than enough space, they would still be bound together. Again, Frodo wasn’t complaining, he loved falling asleep and waking up in Sam’s arms. 

A problem neither of them had anticipated were clothes. It was impossible to change shirts when your arm was bound to someone else’s. It was equally impossible to simply _not_ change them, the thought of a stinking, dirty shirt causing horror to both of them. Not wearing shirts _at all_, was equally unthinkable, for reasons far less innocent. So they did the only reasonable thing - they wore ponchos. They were of ridiculous design -not that Frodo would ever point that out, as Sam was extremely fond of them- with silly fringes and clashing colours. Frodo would have buried them somewhere deep in the cupboard, never to see the light of day again and lie forgotten, but Sam had been so proud when he presented them - he couldn’t go through with it. It was at least better than wearing nothing, he supposed. 

In contrast, cooking had been a pleasant surprise. They had gone from Frodo uselessly following Sam around while he cooked, to Sam handing him things to hold and carry and finally trusting him with simple cutting and stirring work. Frodo had never much cared for cooking, nothing like the passion Sam had for it. But watching him lovingly wash vegetables, taste from different pots and deliberate about the exact component missing - Frodo had found a new appreciation for cooking. 

Frodo was startled out of his musings by Sam, smiling at him and expecting an answer. Frodo could feel himself blush as he admitted to being lost in daydreams and not paying attention. Sam just laughed fondly before explaining how he was asked some advice on a garden and he recommended something he did in their garden - honestly, Frodo didn’t pay attention to the words this time either, too caught up in admiring Sam’s enthusiastic passion. Not that Sam seemed to mind, giving up and shaking his head in fond exasperation. 

* * *

This had been an exceptionally stupid idea. The candle on their desk was burning, casting everything in a warm glow and filling the air with a sweet scent. The tablecloth was deep red, perfectly matching to the roses on every table. And even though he couldn’t see where, Frodo could swear there was someone playing emotional and profound pieces on the piano. This must be the most, over the top romantic place in the whole shire - he could have lived blissfully unaware of it, never stepping a foot in here. 

But he wasn’t here for himself, he was here for Sam. Sam and Rosie, that was. The first proper date Sam would take her on, and the fool had wanted to cancel it, all because he didn’t want to inconvenience Frodo. He had been set, rather persistently actually, to miss an romantic evening with the love of his life; didn’t even plan on telling Frodo _he_ was to blame for it. But Sam was the love of Frodo’s life, and as such, he aspired to make him happy above all. So when Sam had insisted that he didn’t want to go on his date with Rosie, that their bond had changed everything, Frodo had dutifully ignored him and forced him to go regardless. He would not allow him to ruin his chance at happiness over unnecessary concern for Frodo. 

Now here he was, gazing at Sam’s lovely eyes over the candlelight, forcibly reminding himself that _this was not for him_. This was all for Rosie, Sam _tolerated_ him here and he better not forget it. Frodo’s role in all of this was to be supportive and accepting of their relationship, not hope for it to fail behind his friends back. And he _didn’t!_ It would hurt his dear Sam greatly, which was the last thing Frodo could ever want. 

Sam was as nervous as Frodo, fidgeting and casting furtive glances around the restaurant. Frodo had already done that and -finding the surrounding hobbits, flowers and romantic trinkets not nearly as fascinating as Sam- had no plans of doing so again. Sam was blushing endearingly, appearing even softer than usual in the candlelight. Maybe Frodo could find the appeal in this date thing after all - it would be most lovely to have Sam here with him of his own volition, to see Sam blush and fidget because of him and be allowed to calm him with a gentle touch. He could almost pretend, could forget they were waiting for Rosie - 

“I am sorry that I am late, I hope you haven’t waited too long?” Rosie’s sudden arrival ripped him out of his fantasy. Smiling a bright smile that instantly made Frodo forgive the rudeness and Sam’s blush intensify. 

“No, its quite alright, we haven’t waited too long. Please, sit down.” Sam stood up, pulling the chair out for her like the perfect gentleman. Frodo forced a smile. This would be harder than anticipated. But he was proud of Sam, that alone should make it bearable. In the past Sam would hardly get one coherent sentence out in front of her, stumbling over his words and feet in equal measure. 

Now he was earnest, and charming, showing none of his insecurities, and treated her like he would any other hobbit, with courtesy and respect. 

It was a mystery to Frodo how he’d wrestled his nervousness under control this quickly; it had been barely a week since he asked her out, convinced she would reject him. That had been the very same day those insipid hobbits he called friends bound them together. Frodo cursed their timing. He wasn’t certain if he wished they’d done it sooner, preventing Sam from ever asked Rosie out, or later, so that Frodo wouldn’t have to sit through their date, watching them lovingly gaze at each other. He desperately hoped it was the latter; he didn’t _want_ to begrudge Sam his happiness, but he had a sneaking dread that it might be the former. 

“I have to admit, I didn’t expect you to still want me here, after I heard of your bonding. I promise you I wouldn’t be cross with you, I rather suspected something like this.” She was smiling again -could that woman do nothing else- though it was less friendly this time and had what Bilbo would call a ‘scheming quality’ to it. But Frodo must be misreading it, Sam wouldn’t be interested in someone dishonest. Frodo was tempted to ask her how she could possibly have foreseen their friend’s terrible sense of humour, but he refrained. This was not his date, Sam and Rosie were most likely intent on forgetting his presence all together and wouldn’t take well to the reminder of the third party at their table. 

“Oh no! I assure you Rosie, I would never have asked you out if that were the case. You don’t deserve to be treated like that! Our friends think themselves funny you see, I don’t think they even realised what they did. Please don’t doubt that you are wanted here.” At Sam’s earnest assurance something ugly climbed up in Frodo, something demanding he tell her she was not wanted in the slightest and better stay away from his Sam. He pushed it down, firmly and deep, knowing it would creep up again no matter how hard he tried to extinguish it. Like the weed Sam would sometimes complain about - you never got rid of it, could only try your best to control the damage. Frodo forced himself to echo Sam’s sentiment at her searching look in his direction. He could never forgive himself if he scared Sam’s love away. 

“I see you both have arranged yourself with the situation splendidly, maybe your friends knew something you didn’t?” She made Sam laugh with her cryptic remark and Frodo tried to be pleased about that, relived that he would spend his life with someone who made him laugh. Sam’s laugh was a beautiful thing, full of life and joy, it would be crime if it became a rare occasion. And if Rosie would keep it alive by talking nonsense, Frodo could live with that. 

“This has been – revealing - but I fear I must leave you, I have an urgent matter to attend to. Thank you for inviting me, Sam, I sincerely _am_ happy for you, please don’t hold back on my account. We should do this again soon. It was lovely meeting you Frodo, I am sure you will excuse me.” She smiled that smile again, that one full of riddles and knowledge Frodo didn’t have. He couldn’t find it in himself to be overly irked though. She was leaving again, and the small but very loud, selfish part of Frodo was glad for it. It was easily enough justified, she didn’t reject Sam, complimented him even, and asked to postpone this. Most likely she was uncomfortable with Frodo being there and too polite to say so. 

Frodo expected Sam to be crestfallen at the development, but he seemed oddly relieved to see her go. He didn’t look sad, didn’t plead with her to stay but wished her good luck with that mysterious matter of hers, and bid her goodbye. It could have been a front, of course, but as they sat down again he smiled at Frodo, waiting for him to say something. 

“I’m sorry she left early, I can’t imagine how you must feel. I fear my presence might have scared her off.” It was the only thing he could think to say, regardless of the fact that Sam didn’t look like he needed or wanted his condolences. 

“Oh you mustn’t Mr. Frodo, she had somewhere else to be, it is not your fault. We can try again, some other time.” He stopped there, opening his mouth as if to say more but changed his mind in the last moment, deciding against it. 

Frodo couldn't believe that Sam was as nonchalant about Rosie leaving as he pretended, but he knew better than to ask again. When Sam had decided on something, nothing could deter him, so when he wanted to pretend he wasn’t hurt, Frodo would not question him. But he could also do his best to reduce Sam’s suffering, no matter if it was admitted or not. He would get him out of here, where everything would remind him of the evening he _should have _had, and distract him with some pastries. Before he could so much as _suggest_ leaving though, Sam found his courage and started his aborted sentence again. 

“I hear the food here is spectacular, we should eat, now that we’re here and all.” He was blushing beet red, worse even then when Rosie smiled at him. Frodo can only assume it was caused by the humiliation of going on a date with his friend, because his _actual_ love interest left. 

He considered his options. 

Frodo could spend a lovely, though probably strained, evening with the love at his life at a romantic restaurant, seeing him blush in the soft glow of the candle, hearing him hum along to the music, and listening to him rave about the food. It sounded wonderful and he yearned for it, longed with his whole heart. But Sam didn’t want this date to be with _him_, he wanted it with _Rosie_. On the other hand, he offered and sounded genuine. 

They could also _leave._ Frodo could get them some pastries, though Margret didn’t like him. She looked at him with apprehension and warned anyone who would listen that he was _the adventurous type_. But she adored Sam, which wasn’t fair but understandable, because it wasn’t possible _not_ to adore him. Margret made the absolute best pastries, renowned in all the shire for them and her well-guarded secret recipe. He would of course have to keep Sam occupied somehow, but he was reasonably confident that, if he asked nicely - begged maybe - and told her it’s to cheer Sam up, she could be convinced to let him have some. Frodo would owe her though, _much_ he feared. But Sam’s happy expression would be worth it - Sam’s happiness was worth everything. 

In the end, it wasn’t a difficult decision to make. If Frodo had the choice to keep sitting here, comfortable, warm, certain of a good meal and with Sam - he would be a fool to reject that. 

“I would love nothing more, Sam.” 

* * *

Frodo had been awake for half an hour, securely held in Sam’s arms, pressed to his chest, their faces torturous close together. He could feel Sam’s deep and even breath on his face, count his dark eyelashes, trace constellations in his endless freckles. There was no question about it, Sam was beautiful. Maybe not elven beauty of perfection and elegance, but beautiful nonetheless. 

Waking up to find Sam still sleeping had quickly become habit. Frodo would patiently wait, taking the opportunity to stare and admire all he wanted, without the risk of getting caught and being asked hard to answer questions. But he had been staring at Sam for over a week now, no one the wiser and nothing bad happening. 

It felt terrible. Like he was taking advantage of Sam’s ignorance, invading his privacy, and getting away with it. There he lay, gazing at Sam, wishing he didn’t have to restrict those moments to early mornings and late evenings; wishing that Sam would look at him the same way. This has gotten too far, watching Sam during the day -like any other hobbit might, when he is conscious and aware of others seeing him- is something completely different to creepily absorbing every detail of his face while he sleeps, unaware and vulnerable. 

And Frodo considered himself a friend! Wouldn’t a _true _friend tell him? Not keep exploiting Sam’s trust, but tell him the horrible truth? It was agonising to think about, those thoughts slowly creeping in and investing every peaceful moment Frodo found, like vermin crawling through the smallest cracks and up the highest walls. 

The simple answer would be to stop watching Sam in his sleep; to go back to merely looking at him over the day. Go back to what he could justify. But now that he had found this - how could he possibly give it up? That might just be the worst thing; that Frodo _knew_ it was wrong and was too weak to stop, to restrain himself. 

That only left telling Sam. Even if Sam would hate him, would cut all ties to him, and Frodo would only see him per chance. Even if that meant Sam would leave. 

It would be better for him; Sam deserved a friend who didn’t stare him when he slept, who didn’t hate his partner out of petty jealousy. It would probably destroy Frodo, to see him go, but what did it matter anymore, if Sam wasn’t there? 

Frodo was ripped out of his dark musings by Sam waking up. “It’s a sunny morning Mr. Frodo, what makes you look so grim?” 

He looked soft and warm, still sleepy - Frodo couldn’t help himself. If he was going to tell Sam, lose all of this, he might as well might it count. 

He surged forward, closed the space between their faces and pressed a kiss to Sam’s lips. Sam let out a surprised little noise, but he didn’t move away. Encouraged by that, Frodo brought the unbound hand up to his face, feeling the smooth skin and moving it up in his hair, tangling it into his curls. Sam’s lips were soft against his, maybe even kissing him back, but that might be wishful thinking. His hair felt wonderful in his grasp, smooth and perfect to bury his hands in. Frodo never wanted this to stop. 

When he eventually had to move back for air, reality came crashing into the world he had built for himself. This wasn’t how things usually went; he never woke Sam with a kiss, and after this? He never would again. Even this was already too much - too much that he’d _taken_ from Sam - without consent or consideration for his feelings. It was _selfish_ and _terrible_ and he would do it again in a heartbeat and without hesitation, no matter the costs. That, Frodo knew with absolute, horrifying certainty - was too good to give up. 

He didn’t dare open his eyes to see Sam’s betrayed look, maybe even disgust; didn’t dare breathe after the initial gasp for air, for fear of breaking the silence, of starting Sam on those curses and yells he must be bursting to throw at him; didn’t dare move lest Sam realised how they were still laying close enough to feel each-others beating hearts, and moved away as far as possible. It was inevitable, all of it, but Frodo sought to postpone it anyway. 

It was impossibly still in the room, the silence pressing down on him, neither of them moving, both waiting for the other to break first. 

Finally Sam moved, bringing his free hand up to his face. For one crazed moment, Frodo thought he would strike him. But Sam didn’t, he gently cupped his face, his hand heavy and warm on Frodo’s cheek. Startled by the affectionate touch, Frodo opened his eyes. Sam looked at him with what could only be described as love, and yet couldn’t possibly _be _love, not after what Frodo just did. 

“Oh Mr. Frodo, that is no reason to look all grim and maudlin.” He was smiling at him, bright and warm like the sunlight and Frodo couldn’t believe it. That was not supposed to happen. He had _wanted_ it to happen, but things almost never turned out the way he wanted them to. So all he could do was just stare at Sam, who was still smiling, patient and fond, and stroking his cheekbone with his thumb. Then he kissed Frodo. 

And suddenly it made all perfect sense, because Sam was kissing him and things were exactly like they were supposed to be. He was faintly aware that it didn’t make sense at all, that Sam shouldn’t be kissing him, but he was too occupied kissing back to dedicate much thought to it. It didn’t matter anyway, not with Sam making those sounds and pulling him closer. 

* * *

“So how is that bond going, still trying to break it?” Pippin was grinning at them, the question making Merry choke on his drink. Those two had been far too pleased with themselves for their little prank, enquiring after the status of the bond any chance they got and breaking into laughter when they were told they were still stuck. Frodo didn’t see the appeal; it surely wasn’t that hilarious - no one else thought it funny. But they just smirked and changed the topic when he asked them about it. Now though, now he could finally stun them into silence. 

They were both looking at him expectantly, giddy, like children receiving presents with an extra note of mischief. Frodo smiled broadly, noting with satisfaction the first flicker of doubt in their identical expressions. 

“It’s going well, thank you for asking. It fell off this morning, just like that. We decided to retie it, to honour the courtship traditions.” Seeing their gobsmacked faces and hearing their spluttering filled Frodo with more glee than was probably appropriate. He had no desire to keep it concealed though, laughing in their faces and kissing Sam on the cheek, leaning closer into him. 

He looked down at the rope binding them, fonder now that it was a voluntary and conscious gesture, proclaiming their new-found relationship for all who could recognise it. Sam had explained it to him, when the rope had suddenly come loose, how it was an old tradition that had fallen out of fashion. Frodo could only assume that the rope had some magic infused, giving it a mind of its own and forcing the tradition on them until they both accepted it to be the truth. At which point it had fallen away, leaving both of them feeling strange and missing it. The mysteries of elven craft were immeasurable. After Sam told him how he had always like the tradition and had dreamed of doing it someday, Frodo had suggested they re-bind themselves. He’d mostly said it to see Sam’s eyes light up in that way they do when he is especially excited about something, but the thought of being ‘free’ of Sam, now that they had finally found each other, didn’t sit well with Frodo. 

It was Merry who recovered first, shutting his mouth and nodding primly. “Of course, as was the plan all along. Obviously not _exactly_ the plan, we didn’t know the rope would be quite this supportive, but it worked out fine, didn’t it?”

“What do you mean, _as_ _was the plan all along_?” Frodo had intended to sound sharper, angrier, but he was content and lazy, with Sam so close and at liberty to touch and stare to his heart’s desire. 

“Ah you see, Merry and I, we thought you were taking too long and could use some help. So we bound you together. It was getting too depressing to watch you dance around each other. Rather brilliant of us, wasn’t it? To thank us, you should buy the next round, I think.” To underline his words, he emptied his mug with one deep swallow, thumping it heavily on the table. Merry followed suit, all too happy to accept that form of payment. 

Frodo stared at them. They had _planned_ this? Had he really been this obvious in his affections that even _they_ had noticed? Before he could start worrying about it, his thoughts were interrupted by Rosie, firmly placing two new mugs in front of them. Frodo hadn’t known what to expect from her, didn’t think too much on it if he was being honest, but it certainly _wasn’t_ a sincere smile. 

“I hear congratulations are in order. You make a lovely couple, I am truly happy for the both of you.” And with that she was gone again. Frodo stared after her, feeling very bad for thinking ill of her. 

Before he could dwell on her easy acceptance of how completely things had changed in such a short time, his attention was caught by Merry loudly and exuberantly proposing a toast to them. Maybe he really did owe his friends thanks. On his own he never would have gotten this, Sam sitting close to him, muffling his laughter in his hair, hands bound together and looking forward to a lifetime spent together. 

  


**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are appreciated!  
If you liked this story you can [reblog it on Tumblr](https://pixiedustatsundown.tumblr.com/post/187427205608/real-elvish-rope)


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